


Placement, Layering, and Integration

by Mar_Kaz2y5



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chapter 4: Saint Denis (Red Dead Redemption 2), Dutch van der Linde Has a Plan, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Money, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29372766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mar_Kaz2y5/pseuds/Mar_Kaz2y5
Summary: Your job requires you to work with all manner of people in the criminal world. From outlaws, lawmen, moonshiners, and mobsters you've more than had your fair share of experiences. But the van der linde gang may present a new challenge when all members seem determined to run straight towards the gallows.(Title will be changed if I can come up with something better. Also the summary, cause it sucks.)
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, Molly O'Shea/Dutch van der Linde
Kudos: 8





	Placement, Layering, and Integration

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyo, so this is my first Fic ever and I know it sucks. To be fair it was written at 2am in a random burst of ride or die productivity while brooding over Arthur Morgan. It's also super self indulgent, so take it as you will. Can't promise the most regular update dates but I'll try. 
> 
> Most of my information was taken from rdr2 wikipedia, the internet, and that one episode of Breaking bad. It's far from accurate and the Italian in Chapter 1 is laughable at best (google translate you know). Also I don't know money and I don't know math, so do with that what you will.
> 
> Anyways feel free to leave comments and criticisms. Keep me in check y'all. Enjoy I guess.

For all that Henri Lemieux was a deceptive man of unscrupulous nature, you were willing to admit that he had a refined taste for the art of interior design. With delicate patterns adorning the walls and antique embellishments, the Mayor's mansion was a home embodiment of elegance and sophistication. A shame that its guests proved to be the polar opposite. 

You cradled the champagne glass in your hand as you observe the ongoings of the party from your place on the balcony of Mayor Lemieux's mansion. Once again you were forced to witness the gaggle of Saint Denis's high society strut around like preening birds in ostentatious displays of wealth, exchanging fake pleasantries in a competition of self-importance. Your presence at this soiree was per the request (demands) of your client, Signor Angelo Bronte, an Italian strongman with his own brand of conceitedness and unscrupulous activities. Although, perhaps he was entitled to some degree of pride for his successful reign on the city and merciless yet, admittedly, effective business tactics. 

Nonetheless, your dislike of the man never waned. He was all manner of classist arrogance and entitled behavior. Like a nest of roaches, he and his men infested the city of Saint Denis and capitalized on the already rampant corruption that left many dead and destitute. Not that you were any better, you mused, considering these types of men and women made up the majority of your clientele. 

You sip your champagne as you watch Signor Bronte boast and laugh with his underbosses, most likely mocking Lemieux's guests and the mayor himself. You were ready to drift off into the corners of your mind for the rest of the evening when the introduction of two new guests sparked your interest. 

"Ah, the angry cowboys, you've arrived! And you've washed!" Bronte turned to his party, remarking something in Italian, probably a rude comment.

Cowboys? You wondered. What type of cowboys would willingly associate themselves with Angelo Bronte? Perhaps they were working for him, after all, it wasn't too uncommon for Bronte to make use of hired guns to do his dirty work.

As the men exchanged pleasantries, you took a moment to observe the newcomers. Both were men of tall stature dressed in fine dark suits. The dark-haired man had a mustache, donned a top hat and was the first to greet Bronte, his blonde companion choosing to remain silent. There was something familiar about them that you couldn't quite place.

One of Bronte's men passed cigars to the two and you bit back a laugh when the blonde man grabbed the arm of a man, who had chosen to ignore him, to light his cigar. Fair enough, you thought. 

You proceeded to tune out Bronte´s satirical degradation of Saint Denis high society, but noted the growing looks of disdain on the two men's faces the more they listened to Bronte´s narrations. As the dark-haired man denied Bronte's joking (not really) request to kill Hector Fellowes, your eyes met the gaze of the blonde man's, who had come to notice your presence. He gave you a curt nod of acknowledgment which you returned, before turning his attention back to his friend who held a look of barely restrained contempt as Bronte joked about screwing cows. 

Eventually, they excused themselves but as the two made to leave they were abruptly stopped by Bronte. "But before you go, what ah, exactly are your plans here?"

"We've not made any. Well...," the dark-haired man paused. "We are going to need some money."

"Money, yes of course. Well there's money at the trolley station. They keep a lot of cash there in the day," Bronte informed.

Now you were curious. There was no money in the trolley station, at least not enough worth stealing, any two-bit criminal in the city knew that. These two obviously did not and Bronte knew it. Why would Bronte be so interested in disposing of two men whose existences barely mattered to him? 

"Now I could not involve myself in such matters", Bronte continued, "but you, pfft? As a guest, yes! As my guest, bah! Do it."

Bronte and the men exchanged final goodbyes and the two were led out by Napoli to join the party. As soon as they were gone Bronte turned his attention to you. 

"Ah, Signora L/N, finally we can talk." You give him a strained smile. You had been here for two hours now and he had ample time to discuss business with you, though you suspect that the man enjoyed your suffering. 

"Now tell me, how are my investments and take your time. I know you women need extra time to organize your thoughts," he sniggered. You chose to ignore his blatant insult. You may have detested this man (who clearly hired you for his own amusement) but he was still your client and you had a reputation of professionalism you refused to tarnish for this lowly man. 

"This month's $6,000 was successfully processed Signor. Your men did their job as big spenders and played $2,000 into the poker tables at the Bastille. Naturally, Mr. Freeman received 6% for his discretion leaving you with $1,880. Theater Râleur reported an extra $1,000 in its monthly earnings, with the owners receiving their cut, giving you $940. Another $2,000 was deposited into Lemoyne National Bank and our friendly senior manager received $120 for his troubles. The last $1,000 was deposited into one of your offshore accounts in South America for safe keeping and future use. In total, you are left with $5,700 from your more…...riskier business endeavors." 

Bronte´s face stretched into a smug grin. He turned to his men. "Eh, la piccola puttana é buona, no?" The men cackled in agreement. With a blank, almost bored look, you waited for their laughter to die down. 

"Now of course, we need to discuss my commission," you continued. Bronte turned back towards you with a strange gleam in his eyes, lips pulled into a smirk.

"Hmmm, I'm sure we can work something out bellissima. Perhaps over dinner and a glass of wine," he suggested.

You ignored his suggestion. "My usual rate is 10% of the profit. In this case that is $570. I prefer my payment to be given to me in cash but I also have a couple of offshore accounts to which the money can be transferred. Whichever is your preference."

"Now why would a little woman like you need so much money? I'm sure we can work out other ways to satisfy your price. Maybe-"

"Signor Bronte," you interrupted. "While I appreciate (not) your interest, my job is complete and I will be needing payment. If you fail to compensate me, I will be forced to take back a larger sum from the accounts I oversaw."

This only proved to further amuse him. "Now how would you do that little girl? I could kill you now and keep my money eh," he chortled. 

You were indifferent to his intimidations. This was not the first threat you'd received in this line of work and it would hardly be your last. 

"Signor Bronte, you signed a contract with me prior to the start of this job. May I remind you that you entrusted me with specific information on your accounts and current business deals to properly execute my job. If you remember, the third clause of the contract gives me liberty to disclose this information in the event you fail to reimburse me." You paused, watching with quiet delight as an angry scowl slowly formed on his face, before continuing. 

"And suppose you did kill me. Hypothetically, I'd have entrusted that information to a close, trustworthy colleague of mine, who'd be instructed to send that information to the…..appropriate officials, of whom could make business very difficult for you for a reasonably fair amount of time."

By this point, Bronte was more than aggravated. He fixed a dirty look at you, his men tense behind him, ready to jump at his word. 

"You are playing a dangerous game Signorina."

You only smiled pleasantly. "The most dangerous games yield the best rewards Signore. I'm sure you yourself are more than aware."

The two of you continued to stare each other down, daring the other to throw the first fist in this proverbial fight. Time ticked on, although the entire conversation likely did not exceed a half hour and the stare down ten seconds. Suddenly, a giant smile broke Bronte´s stony expression and he let out a heaving laugh. His men stared in confusion. Just like that it was over. 

"Signorina here has some big balls," he crowed. "My men could learn something from you Signora L/N, if some of them had a quarter of your competency then I suspect I´d be bathing in more money than I already am!"

Eventually his laughs died down to chuckles and a serious expression overtook him. He held out his hand to shake, seemingly conceding to your conditions. "I trust that you will handle this with respectful discretion? That I will not have to take matters into my own hands to protect my interests?" He questioned.

"If I get my payment then we shall have no trouble Signore," you said as you shook his hand.

He nodded. "Good, good. Napoli will deliver you your reward at the Bastille Saloon tomorrow morning."

With that, he turned back towards his companions saying something in Italian. Napoli motioned for you to follow him out to join the rest of the guests. As you were led down the stairs of the luxurious mansion, you caught a flash of dirty blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. You spun your head to spy the blonde man from earlier. He was trailing Pierre, Mayor Lemieux's butler, and didn't seem to notice the fact that someone had spotted him.

What are you doing? You thought as you watched him pivot to the side of an entrance to avoid being seen. You debated on interrupting but ultimately decided that it was none of your business. Soon, you and Napoli arrived at the doors leading to the back courtyards of Lemieux's mansion. He gave you a small bow before gesturing to the source of music and rambunctious noise. 

"Signore Bronte thanks you for your assistance Madam. Enjoy your evening."


End file.
